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Updated: May 27, 2025
It couldn't spring up here even if it wanted to." "If it's an old tiger I think you ought to get it cheaper. A thousand rupees is a lot of money." Louisa Mebbin adopted a protective elder-sister attitude towards money in general, irrespective of nationality or denomination.
Packletide quickly. "How you shot the goat and frightened the tiger to death," said Miss Mebbin, with her disagreeably pleasant laugh. "No one would believe it," said Mrs. Packletide, her face changing colour as rapidly as though it were going through a book of patterns before post-time. "Loona Bimberton would," said Miss Mebbin. Mrs.
"I should be in rather a Baby Bunting condition," confessed Clovis, "with a miserable rabbit-skin or two to wrap up in, but then," he added, with a rather malicious glance at Diana's proportions, "my figure is quite as good as that Russian dancing boy's." "How amused every one would be if they knew what really happened," said Louisa Mebbin a few days after the ball. "What do you mean?" asked Mrs.
As soon as it caught sight of the tethered goat it lay flat on the earth, seemingly less from a desire to take advantage of all available cover than for the purpose of snatching a short rest before commencing the grand attack. "I believe it's ill," said Louisa Mebbin, loudly in Hindustani, for the benefit of the village headman, who was in ambush in a neighbouring tree. "Hush!" said Mrs.
Packletide, and at that moment the tiger commenced ambling towards his victim. "Now, now!" urged Miss Mebbin with some excitement; "if he doesn't touch the goat we needn't pay for it." The rifle flashed out with a loud report, and the great tawny beast sprang to one side and then rolled over in the stillness of death.
Packletide was pardonably annoyed at the discovery; but, at any rate, she was the possessor of a dead tiger, and the villagers, anxious for their thousand rupees, gladly connived at the fiction that she had shot the beast. And Miss Mebbin was a paid companion. Therefore did Mrs.
It was Louisa Mebbin who drew attention to the fact that the goat was in death-throes from a mortal bullet-wound, while no trace of the rifle's deadly work could be found on the tiger. Evidently the wrong animal had been hit, and the beast of prey had succumbed to heart-failure, caused by the sudden report of the rifle, accelerated by senile decay. Mrs.
A platform had been constructed in a comfortable and conveniently placed tree, and thereon crouched Mrs. Packletide and her paid companion, Miss Mebbin. A goat, gifted with a particularly persistent bleat, such as even a partially deaf tiger might be reasonably expected to hear on a still night, was tethered at the correct distance.
Packletide's face settled on an unbecoming shade of greenish white. "You surely wouldn't give me away?" she asked. "I've seen a week-end cottage near Dorking that I should rather like to buy," said Miss Mebbin with seeming irrelevance. "Six hundred and eighty, freehold. Quite a bargain, only I don't happen to have the money."
With an accurately sighted rifle and a thumbnail pack of patience cards the sportswoman awaited the coming of the quarry. "I suppose we are in some danger?" said Miss Mebbin. She was not actually nervous about the wild beast, but she had a morbid dread of performing an atom more service than she had been paid for. "Nonsense," said Mrs. Packletide; "it's a very old tiger.
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